THE    RING    OF    AMETHYST 


BY 


ALICE  WELLINGTON  ROLLINS 


11  He  but  only  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  I  write. 

A  ring  of  Amethyst 

I  could  not  wear  here  plainer  to  my  sight 
Than  that  first  kiss." 

— Mrs.  Browning. 


NEW    YORK 
G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

182    FIFTH   AVENUE 
1878 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
ALICE  WELLINGTON  ROLLINS 

1878 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE    RING    AND    THE    BOOK  : 

THE  RING  : — TO   GEORGE  ELIOT      ....  V 

THE  BOOK: — TO   D.    M.    R VI 

TO  THE  CRITIC vii 

NARCISSUS           . Vlii 

PROEM UC 

JOY I 

PAIN 3 

A    STUDY  5 

"MANY  THINGS  THOU  HAST  GIVEN  ME,  DEAR 

HEART"            .....  7 

BRUTUS  AT  PHILIPPI      .        .                .        .  8 

"VINO  SANTO"  TO  H.  H 9 

CHARM .12 

A    FACE 14 

LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT    A    WAY  .  .  .17 

SUMNER          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  1 8 

SIGHT 29 

PURITY 3° 

A    ROSE 32 

RUE    WITH    A    DIFFERENCE  ...  33 


M191898 


11  CONTENTS. 

TO   MAY    H.    R 34 

CYCLES 35 

EXPERIENCE 37 

A    TRUST    IN    GOD            .            .            .            .            .  38 

FORESIGHT 41 

TO  FRANK  S.  R .  WITH  A  VIOLIN       .            .  42 

"  THE  EAGER  SUN  COMES  GLADLY  FROM  THE  SEA  "  43 

RESERVE              .......  44 

A   SONG    OF   SUMMER                 ....  47 

THOUGHT 50 

A   CHANCE   ACQUAINTANCE             .            .            .  51 

A    REMEMBERED    CRITIC.       TO    J.    R.    D.       .            .  52 

DAWN 53 

WITH    AN    ANTIQUE             .            .            •            •        '   •  55 

DOUBT 56 

"l  KNOW  MYSELF  THE  BEST  BELOVED  OF  ALL"  58 

OCTOBER 59 

SERENITY 6 1 

"A  YEAR  AGO  TO-DAY,  LOVE"             ...  62 

STEADFAST               ......  63 

WITH  A  CRYSTAL  LION.      FOR  L.  R.  W.                   .  64 

ABSENT-MINDED 66 

ANSWERED     PRAYER 68 

EXPRESSION 69 

FULFILLMENT  .  .  .  .  .  -1 


CONTENTS.  lii 

73 

FAITH  IN  WORKS       ......  74 

"NO.  33 A  PORTRAIT."       FOR  R.  H.  L.             .  75 

LONGING 76 

THE  NEW  DAY .  78 

CONFESSION 79 

"AMONG  THOSE  JOYS  FOR  WHICH  WE  UTTER 

PRAISE."     ......  82 

BECAUSE 83 

IVY .  85 

INFLUENCE 86 

MIRACLE        .......  88 

"SHE  CAME  AND  WENT"    ....  89 

DREAMERS 9! 

ANDROMEDA     93 

LOVE  SONG                .            .                        ...  97 

CLOSED                 ...                        ...  98 

BABYHOOD.       M.   W.  R.                ....  IOO 

"IF  I  COULD  KNOW,  LOVE."        ....  IO2 

THE  DIFFERENCE              .....  103 

INDIAN  SUMMER         ......  104 

LAST AN    AMETHYST.  108 


-THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK." 


THE   RING.  TO   GEORGE    ELIOT. 


As  she,  thy  Dorothea,  loved  of  thee, 
Refused  to  wear  in  careless  ornament 
The  amethysts  and  emeralds  that  lent 

Their  charm  to  other  women  ; — even  as  she, 

Turning  one  day  by  chance  the  golden  key 
Of  their  close  casket,  started  as  they  sent 
Swift,  glowing  rays  to  greet  her,  and  then  bent 

To  lift  them  in  her  white  hands  lovingly  ; — 


O  great  of  heart,  so  calmly  dost  thou  stand 
In  the  proud  splendor  of  thy  fame,  and  bring 

Thy  glorious  gifts  to  all  the  listening  land, — 
Thou  canst  not  greatly  care  what  I  may  sing  ! 
Yet  since  I  hold  to  thee  my  amethyst  ring, 

Take  it  one  little  moment  in  thy  hand  ! 


VI. 


THE  BOOK. To  D.  M.  R. 


DEAR,  if  this  little  book  of  thine  and  mine 
Could  bring  me  fame  as  glorious  and  rare 
As  that  whose  splendid  laurels  shine  so  fair 

For  Dorothea, it  were  less  divine 

A  gift  than  this  most  priceless  love  of  thine. 
Since,  then,  that  came  to  me,  why  now  despair 
Of  laurel  ?     though  I  may  not  hope  to  wear 
Laurel  or  myrtle  as  the  precious  sign 
Of  any  proud  desert.     Yet  if  I  might 
Not  find  that  love  could  keep  its  holy  tryst 
With  fame,  how  quickly  would  I  yield  the  bright 
New  dream,  to  keep  my  ring  of  amethyst  : 
The  memory  of  that  day  when  love  first  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  I  write  ! 


VII. 


TO     THE    CRITIC. 


I  KNOW  full  well  I  cannot  pour  for  you 
The  nectar  of  the  gods  ; — no  epic  wine 
Is  this  I  bring,  to  tempt  you  with  its  fine 
Poetic  flavor,  as  of  grapes  that  grew 
In  the  young  vineyards  when  the  world  was  new, 
And  only  poets  wrote  ; — a  slender  vine 
You  scarce  will  care  for,  bore  these  grapes  of  mine, 
From  which  frail  hands  have  crushed  the  purple  dew. 
Yet  if  from  what  I  bring  you,  there  is  missed 
The  lyric  loveliness  of  some  who  write, 
The  passionate  fervor  and  the  keen  delight 
Of  eloquent  fire  in  some  to  whom  you  list, — 
Think  it  may  be,  not  that  the  gift  is  slight, 
But  that  my  cup  is  rimmed  with  amethyst ! 


VIII. 

NARCISSUS. 
TO    THE    READER. 

IF  haply  in  these  pages  you  should  read 
Aught  that  seems  true  to  human  nature,  true 
To  heavenly  instincts  ; — if  they  speak  to  you 

Of  love,  of  sorrow,  faith  without  a  creed, 

Of  doubt,  of  hope,  of  longing, — or  indeed 
Of  any  pain  or  joy  the  poet  knew 
A  heart  could  feel, — think  not  to  find  a  clue 

To  his  own  heart — its  gladness  or  its  need. 

From  a  deep  spring  with  tangled  weeds  o'ergrown 
The  poet  parts  the  leaves  ;   if  they  who  pass, 
Bending  to  look  down  through  the  tall  wild  grass, 

By  winds  of  heaven  faintly  overblown, 
Should  start  to  see  there,  dimly  in  a  glass, 

Some  face, 'tis  not  the  poet's,  but  their  own  ! 


IX. 


PROEM. 


I  WONDER,  little  book,  if  after  all 

I  greatly  care  whether  with  praise  or  blame 
Men  turn  your  leaves.    Once,  the  fair  hope  of  fame 

Had  made  me  wonder  what  fate  should  befall 

My  first  faint  singing  ;  now  I  cannot  call 
The  singing  mine  ;  I  gave  it  him  who  came 
To  place  my  joy  where  no  harsh  touch  can  maim 

Its  safe,  secure,  bright  beauty.     Like  a  wall 
Of  strong  defence  to  me  this  blessedness  : 

That  of  his  love  I  am  so  proudly  sure, 

Though  the  whole  world  should  bend  to  my  success, 

I  think  he  could  not  love  me  any  more  ! 

And  though  the  whole  world  say  my  book  is  poor, 
I  know  he  will  not  love  me  any  less  ! 


JOY. 

heart  was  like  a  flower  once, 
That  from  its  jewel-tinted  cup 
The  generous  fragrance  of  its  joy 

To  all  the  world  sent  floating  up. 
But  now  'tis  like  a  humming-bird, 

That  in  the  cup  his  bright  wing  dips, 
And  with  most  dainty  selfishness 
Himself  the  choicest  honey  sips, 
With  eager,  thirsty,  longing  lips  ! 

And  once  my  heart  was  like  a  gem, 

Set  in  a  fair  betrothal  ring  ; 
Content  to  light  the  happy  darks 

That  shield  love's  shy  self-wondering. 
But  now  I  think  my  heart  is  like 

The  lady  fair  who  wears  the  ring  ; 
Pressed  closely  to  her  lips  at  night 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

With  love's  mysterious  wondering 
That  hers  should  be  the  precious  thing  ! 

And  once  my  heart  was  like  a  nest, 

Where  singing-birds  have  made  their  home  ; 
Set  where  the  apple-boughs  in  bloom 

Fleck  the  blue  air  with  flower-foam. 
But  now  it  is  itself  a  bird  ; 

And  if  it  does  not  always  sing, 
The  Heavenly  Father  knows  what  thoughts, — 

Too  strangely  sweet  for  uttering, — 

Stir  faintly  underneath  its  wing  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


PAIN. 

|Y  heart  was  once  a  folded  flower, 
Within  whose  jewel-tinted  cup,- 
Still  hidden  even  from  itself, — 

A  wealth  of  joy  is  treasured  up. 
But  now  my  heart  is  like  a  flower 

From  which  a  dainty  humming-bird 
Has  rifled  all  the  choicest  sweets, 
And  left  without  one  last  fond  word 
The  flower-soul  so  deeply  stirred. 

And  once  my  heart  was  like  a  gem, 
Set  in  a  rich  betrothal  ring  ; 

Unconscious  in  its  darkened  case 
How  fair  it  lies  there  glittering. 

But  now  I  think  my  heart  is  like 
The  lady  who  has  worn  the  ring, 

And  draws  it  from  her  finger  slight 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

With  love's  bewildered  wondering 

That  love  should  be  a  poor  bruised  thing. 

And  once  my  heart  was  like  a  nest, 
High  in  the  apple  branches  hung ; 

Where  in  the  early  April  dew 
No  happy  birds  have  ever  sung. 

Now  'tis  itself  a  wounded  bird  ; 

And  though  sometimes  you  hear  it  sing, 

The  Heavenly  Father  knows  what  pain 
It  tries  to  hide  by  uttering 
The  same  sweet  notes  it  used  to  sing. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


A  STUDY. 

THINK,  indeed,  'twas  only  this  that  made 

Her  seem  peculiar  :  namely,  she  had  no 
Peculiarity.     The  world  to-day 
Is  disappointed  if  we  are  not  odd, 
And  hold  decided  views  on  some  one  point, 
Or  else  unsettled  views  on  all.     But  she 
Was  living  simply  what  she  wished  to  live  : 
A  lovely  life  of  rounded  womanhood  ; 
With  no  sharp,  salient  points  for  eye  or  ear 
To  seize  and  pass  quick  judgment  on.     Not  quite 
Content  was  she  to  let  the  golden  days 
Slip  from  her  fingers  like  the  well-worn  beads 
Of  some  long  rosary,  told  o'er  and  o'er 
Each  night  with  dull,  mechanical  routine  ; 
But  yet  she  had  no  central  purpose  ;    no 
Absorbing  aim  to  which  all  else  must  yield  ; 
And  so  the  very  sweetness  of  her  life, 


6  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Its  exquisite  simplicity  and  calm, 
Musical  in  its  silence,  smote  the  ear 
More  sharply  than  the  discords  of  the  rest. 
So  do  we  grow  accustomed  far  at  sea 
To  jar  and  clang  of  harsh  machinery, 
And  sleep  profoundly  in  our  narrow  berths 
Amid  the  turmoil  ;  but  if  suddenly 
The  noisy  whirr  is  silent,  and  the  deep 
Low  murmur  of  the  moonlit  sea  is  all 
That  stirs  the  air,  we  waken  with  a  start, 
And  ask  in  terror  what  has  happened  !     Then 
Sink  back  again  upon  the  pillows  ;  strange, 
That  silence  should  have  wakened  us  ! 

Alas! 

The  world  has  grown  so  feverishly  hot 
With  restless  aims  and  poor  ambitious  dreams, 
That  lives  which  have  the  cool  and  temperate  flow 
Of  healthful  purpose  in  their  veins,  will  seem 
Peculiar  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"MANY  THINGS  THOU  HAST  GIVEN  ME, 
DEAR  HEART." 

|ANY  things  thou  hast  given  me,  dear  heart  ; 
But  one  thing  thou  hast  taken  :    that  high 

dream 

Of  heaven  as  of  a  country  that  should  seem 
Beyond  all  glory  that  divinest  art 
Has  pictured  : — with  this  I  have  had  to  part 

Since  knowing  thee  ; — how  long,  love,  will  the 

gleam 

Of  each  day's  sunlight  on  my  pathway  stream, 
Richer  than  what  seemed  richest  at  the  start  ? 

Make  my  days  happy,  love  ;  yet  I  entreat 
Make  not  each  happier  than  the  last  for  me  ; 

Lest  heaven  itself  should  dawn  to  me,  complete 
In  joy,  not  the  surprise  I  dreamed  'twould  be, 

But  simply  as  the  natural  and  sweet 
Continuance  of  days  spent  here  with  thee. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


BRUTUS  AT  PHILIPPI. 

|OME,  for  whose   haughtier  sake  proud  Caesar 
made 

His  legions  hers,  to  win  her  victories, 
Denied  him  when  her  gods  let  Casca's  blade 

Pierce  him  who  learned  to  make  her  legions  his. 
Still  he  is  mighty  ;  with  unchanging  dread 

Her  people  murmur  for  great  Caesar  slain  ; 
Nor  value,  at  the  price  of  Caesar  dead, 

Their  greater  cause  lost  on  Philippi's  plain. 
If  haply  there  are  fields,  as  some  pretend, 

Beyond  the  silent  Styx,  where  vaguely  grim 
Souls  of  dead  heroes,  shadowy  and  dim, 

Awake, — I  may  find  entrance  at  life's  end, 
Not  as  a  hero  who  freed  Rome  from  him, 

But  as  a  man  who  once  was  Caesar's  friend  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  4 

"VINO  SANTO." 
TO   II.   H. 

TASTE  the  cup  of  sacred  wine, 

Nor  count  with  you  the  cost  too  great 
For  those  who  steadfastly  can  wait  ; 
Though  grapes  of  fragrance  so  divine 
Should  ripen  to  their  vintage  late. 

• 

Gathered  when  only  richest  suns 
Pour  down  a  wealth  of  golden  fire  ; 
Pressed  while  the  holy  heart's  desire 

Breathes  grateful  for  these  perfect  ones, 

And  solemn  prayer  floats  high  and  higher  ; — 

Type  of  a  love  that  lets  no  stain 
Of  doubt  or  dullness  mar  its  creed  ; 
But  patient  through  its  own  great  need 

Of  loving,  wins  its  sure  domain, — 
Such  love,  such  wine,  is  pure  indeed. 


10  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Yet  as  I  turn  to  pour  for  you, — 

Vivid  and  sparkling  at  your  gaze, — 
My  own  heart's  vintage, — let  me  praise 

This  glowing  wine  as  holy,  too  ; 

Since  love  may  come  in  many  ways. 

And  mine  came  to  me  as  a  star 

Shines  suddenly  from  worlds  apart  ; 
And  suddenly  my  lifted  heart 

Caught  the  rare  brightness  from  afar 
And  mirrored  its  swift  counterpart. 

Love  born  of  instant  trust  and  need, 
Each  heart  of  each  ;  a  love  that  knew 
No  test  of  time  to  prove  it  true, 

No  fostering  care  ;  without  a  seed 
It  seemed  as  if  the  flower  grew  ! 

And  you  whose  tender  love  was  nursed 
In  strong  sweet  patience,  till  the  wine 
Of  joy  became  for  you  divine, 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST:  1 1 

Ripened  in  sunlight  from  the  first, — 
Will  not  refuse  to  this  of  mine 

A  sacredness  ;  remembering, — 

By  miracle  changed  instantly, — 

The  holy  wine  of  Galilee  ; — 
Even  so  the  wine  of  joy  I  bring 

For  you  to  taste,  was  changed  for  me ! 


1 2  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T. 


CHARM. 

|NE  day  in  June  a  crimson-breasted  bird 

Flitted  from  Heaven  through  the  golden  air, 
And  lit  upon  an  apple-bough,  that  stirred 

With  rapture  of  delight  to  hold  her  there  ; 
And  finding  at  the  same  time  on  its  breast 

A  wealth  of  flowers,  rose-red  lined  with  snow, 
Believed  in  joy  its  graceful  little  guest 

Had  brought  them  with  her,  and  so  murmured 

low 

In  greeting, — "  Little  bird,  a  poor  old  tree 
Scarce  can  breathe  worthily  its  thanks  to  thee, 
For  these  sweet  flowers  thou  hast  brought  to  me  !  " 

And  then  the  pretty  bird  whose  restless  feet 
Danced  in  and  out  among  the  blossoms  there, 

For  very  joyousness  sent  rippling  sweet 
A  carol  of  bright  laughter  through  the  air. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  13 

Flushing  with  joy,  the  blooming  sprays  swung  high, 

Responsive  to  the  quiver  of  her  wings  ; 
As  light  of  heart  beneath  the  summer  sky 

Her  voice  ceased  suddenly  its  twitterings, 
To  murmur  back,  "  Thou  foolish,  dear  old  tree, 
It  is  not  I  who  bring  the  flowers  to  thee, 
But  thy  most  tempting  flowers  that  bring  me  ! " 


1 4  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T, 


A  FACE. 

WE  have  known 

Of  many  a  man  whose  features  were  not  carved 
By  his  own  soul  to  their  high  nobleness, 
But  handed  down  by  some  far  ancestor. 
Strange,  that  a  man  a  generation  long 
Should  do  good  deeds  that  mould  his  generous  lips 
To  noble  curves,  and  then  should  die  and  leave 
His  son  the  curves  without  the  nobleness. 
We've  known  of  many  a  woman,  many  a  man, 
Whose  own  soul  leaped  in  passionate  high  flames  ; 
But  locked  behind  the  fatal  prison  bars 
Of  cold  ancestral  dignity  of  face, 
No  glimmer  of  the  light  and  warmth  within 
Creeps  to  the  surface. 

But  this  face  of  hers 
Is  not  a  face  like  those  we've  analyzed  ; 
True  to  its  wearer,  it  is  justly  proud 


777^  RING  OF  A  ME  777  YS  T.  15 

With  her  own  pride  and  not  her  ancestors. 

Were  you  to  chide  her  gently  for  some  fault, 

Or  promise  that  whatever  grand  mistakes 

Her  woman's  impulses  might  lead  her  to, 

You  would  judge  all  with  Christian  charity, 

Tis  not  impossible  that  she  would  say, 

"  Sir,  I  make  no  mistakes  ;  I  have  no  faults  ; 

I  thank  you,  but  I  need  no  chanty  !  " 

Well,  what  of  that  ?  I  would  that  there  were  more 

Of  us,  who,  bidden  to  confess  our  sins, 

Could  say  Job's  litany  :  "  May  God  forbid 

That  you  be  justified  !  my  righteousness 

Will  I  hold  fast  and  will  not  let  it  go  ; 

My  heart  shall  not  reproach  me  while  I  live  !  " 

Humility  's  a  grace  at  thirty-nine, 

But  scarce  a  virtue  in  the  very  young, 

Who  bend  to  us  from  fear,  not  reverence. 

Nor  truly  humble  is  the  violet 

That  keeps  its  face  quite  upturned  to  the  sun 

And  would  grow  higher  if  it  could  ;  it  cannot. 

Better  for  our  young  friend  the  haughtiness 


1 6  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T. 

Of  strong  white  lilies  that  refuse  to  bloom 

Near  the  dark  earth  they  rose  from  ;   eagerly 

They  push  aside  the  lazy  weeds  that  hide 

The  upper  air  ;  and  keeping  in  their  breasts 

The  fair  white  secret  of  their  blossoming, 

Rise  to  the  heaven  they  worship.     Suddenly, 

Awed  at  the  vast  immensity  of  light 

That  wraps  the  earth  as  with  a  garment ;  awed 

By  the  deep  silence  of  that  upper  air, 

They  bend  their  stately  heads,  to  breathe  to  earth 

A  murmured  penitence  for  olden  pride. 

The  fair  white  bells  they  kept  so  jealously 

Lifted  to  heaven,  now  they  overturn, 

And  let  the  cherished  fragrance  of  their  souls 

Swing  censer-like  upon  the  general  air. 

You'll  look  at  it  again  ? 
No,  I  have  put  it  back  ;  it's  not  a  face 
I  like  to  argue  over  with  a  friend. 
It  is  a  woman's  face  ;  and  what  is  more, 
A  face  I  care  for  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"LOVE   WILL  FIND   OUT  A  WAY." 

|HAT  Love  should  find  a  way  through  iron  bars 
And   close-drawn  bolts — this  does  not  seem 

so  strange  ; — 

More  strange  I  count  it  that  with  wider  range, 
With  naught  to  mark  its  course  beneath  the  stars, 
Love  finds  its  sure,  swift  way.     That  day  when  we 
First  parted,  Love,  how  dangerously  near 
The  chance  we  never  met  again !  though  clear 
In  the  broad  daylight,  unrestrained  and  free 
As  breeze  from  heaven,  naught  between  us  lay 
But  the  wide,  shining,  trackless  fields  of  air 
That  gave  no  sign  ;  the  lonely  vastness,  where 
Love  saw  no  clue  to  guide  it,  or  to  stay 
Its  course  ; — well  might  the  lover  in  despair 
Yield  up  his  search  ; — and  yet  Love  found  a  way  ! 


1 8  THE  RING  OF  AME  TH  YS T. 


SUMNER. 

I. 
IEAD! 

But  not  where  the  flashing  guns 
Bring  in  a  moment's  glittering  space 
Death, — and  heaven — and  deathless  fame — 
To  Victory's  sons. 
Dead  ! 

But  not  where  the  crimson  flame, 
Leaping  fierce  in  a  cruel  grace, 
From  the  earthly  clod 
Burns  away  all  pitiful  dross 
Till  a  martyr's  soul  on  fiery  cross 
Ascends  to  God. 
Whose  life  was  martyrdom 
Shall  be  spared  a  martyr's  death 
In  winning  a  martyr's  crown. 
No  struggle  for  restless  breath  ; — 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  19 

A  life  laid  calmly  down  ; — 

Eloquent  lips  grown  dumb  ; — 

Only  for  us  the  pain, 

And  the  agony  of  loss  ; 

Only  for  us  the  test ; 

For  him,  the  wonderful  gain, 

For  him,  a  longed-for  rest. 

II. 

Dead! 

And  the  mother  state, 

Mother  of  noble  sons, 

Reaches  her  yearning  arms. 

Give  him  back  to  her  now  ! 

Cold  is  the  kingly  brow, 

Noblest  of  noble  ones  ! 

He  cannot  serve  you  now  ; 

Unheeding  earthly  things, 

The  royal  soul,  so  great 

To  shield  from  threatening  harms, 

Has  passed  through  a  silent  gate 


2  o  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  Til  YS  T. 

That  never  outward  swings. 

Living,  the  world  had  need 

Of  him  and  his  deathless  name  ; — 

Living,  the  world  had  need 

'Of  him  and  his  stainless  fame  ; — 

Living,  we  knew  her  need 

Of  him,  and  confessed  her  claim  ; — 

Dead,  he  is  only  ours  ! 

Cover  his  bier  with  flowers  ; 

Give  him  back  to  us  now  ! 

III. 

Nay! 

Let  Massachusetts  wait  ! 

In  the  capitol  of  the  great 

Let  the  statesman  lie  in  state. 

Let  the  house  be  draped  in  woe  ; 

Let  the  sentinel  below 

Pace  solemnly  to  and  fro. 

All  night  let  the  tireless  street    . 

Echo  the  sad,  slow  feet 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  2J 

Of  those  who  come  and  go. 

All  day  let  the  voiceless  street 

In  silence  then  repeat 

The  name  we  honor  so. 

Let  the  Senate  chamber  ring 

Once  more  with  his  eloquence, 

The  eloquence  of  his  death  ! 

Let  choicest  flowers  bring, 

Delicate  and  intense, 
Tribute  of  fragrant  breath. 
For  ever  the  gentlest  thing 
With  strongest  love  will  cling 
To  one  so  grandly  great. 
Let  Massachusetts  wait ! 
Honored  by  every  land, 
Around  him  there  shall  stand 
The  noblest  of  each  state  ! 
And  a  nation's  tears  be  shed 
For  our  Massachusetts'  dead  ! 


2  2  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T. 

IV. 

Living,  there  was  none  so  poor 
That  he  need  to  hesitate 
Loftiest  aid  from  him  to  claim  ; — 
Dead,  there  is  not  one  so  great, 
Standing  now  at  his  right  hand, 
But  may  tremble  so  to  stand  ; 
Lest  the  touchstone  of  that  pure 
Stainless  soul  and  deathless  fame 
Prove  all  poor  who  seem  so  great ! 

V. 

Now, 

To  his  mother  where  she  stands, 

Envied  by  the  childless  lands, 

Bring  him  back  with  reverent  hands. 

Lonely  mother,  it  is  well 

That  your  sorrowing  lips  should  tell 

Once  again  repentant  woe 

For  the  wound  of  long  ago, 

For  rebuke  that  hurt  him  so  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

No  reproof  could  alienate 

Patriot  soul  from  patriot  state  ; — 

Grandly  patient,  he  could  wait, 

Cancelling  reproachful  past, 

Words  that  almost  came  too  late  ! 

"  You  were  right  and  we  were  wrong  !  " 

Strong  and  clear  they  came  at  last  ; 

And  his  sovereign  spirit,  great 

In  forgiveness  for  the  long 

Silent  strain  so  gently  borne, 

Hearing  Massachusetts  mourn 

For  the  wrong  that  she  had  done 

Turned  to  her,  her  reverent  son. 

Ere  her  last  word  met  his  ear, 

He  had  answered — he  is  here  ! 

VI. 

Here  ! 

At  the  city  gates  ! 
And  the  long  procession  waits 
To  bear  him  to  his  bier. 


24  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


No  sound  of  muffled  drums 
Tells  that  a  hero  comes  ; 
No  volleying  cannon  roll 
The  loss  of  a  leader's  soul ; 
Not  with  the  aid  of  these 
Had  he  won  his  victories  ; 
He  never  loved  such  voice  ; — 
Let  not  these  be  our  choice 
To  give  this  pain  relief  ; 
For  the  people's  hearts  are  mute 
With  the  passion  of  their  grief. 
Break  not  upon  his  peace 
With  Massachusetts  guns  ! 
Only  a  tolling  -bell 
To  the  sorrowing  state  shall  tell 
That  the  noblest  of  her  sons, — 
Highest  in  the  world's  repute, 
Lowliest  in  the  toil  he  gave, — 
Given  of  God  this  swift  release, 
Comes  at  last  from  her  to  crave 
For  the  service  that  he  gave 
The  guerdon  of  a  grave  ! 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  VST.  2$ 

VII. 
Dark 
Over  all, 

Falls  the  twilight  like  a  pall. 
Kindle  not  the  restless  flare 
Of  the  midnight  torches'  glare  ; 
Let  the  restful  stars  look  down, 
Silent  through  the  clear,  cold  air, 
High  and  pure  as  his  renown  ! 
Pale  against  the  evening  sky 
Burns  the  banner  that  ye  drape 
With  the  heavy  folds  of  crape  ; 
And  ye  have  no  need  to  tie 
All  its  fluttering  crimson  back 
With  those  heavy  folds  of  black  ; — 
For  the  very  winds  to-day 
Droop  with  sadnesss,  nor  would  care 
With  their  crimson  toy  to  play ! 

VIII. 

He  is  here  ! 

Massachusetts  called  him  back, 


26  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

And  he  answered — he  is  here  ! 
Let  the  walls  be  hung  with  black, 
Yet  let  roses  richly  red 
On  the  casket  of  the  dead 
Be  in  bright  profusion  spread  ; 
And  all  night  with  solemn  tread 
Let  the  dusky  sentinel, 
Guarding  what  he  loved  so  well, 
Guarding  what  he  held  so  dear, 
Pace  beside  the  quiet  bier  ! 

IX. 

O  beautiful  sad  day  ! 
All  of  earthly  must  we  lay 
In  the  silent  grave  away. 
And  the  very  Winter,  pale 
At  the  sight  of  so  much  grief, 
From  her  harshness  will  relent  ; 
Stoop  to  brush  away  the  snow 
From  the  frozen  earth  below 
Where  the  noble  dead  shall  lie. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  27 

Let  no  glorious  dome  less  high 
Than  the  over-arching  sky 
Bend  above  that  royal  grave ; 
And  for  living  monument, 
Over  it  shall  rise  and  wave 
Living  flower  and  living  leaf. 
Lay  your  costly  roses  down, 
Civic  wreath  and  cross  and  crown  ; 
These  are  frail  ! 
Spring  shall  be  your  sentinel ; 
Guarding  now  untiring  here 
All  of  what  we  held  so  dear, 
All  of  what  we  loved  so  well ! 
Lay  your  costly  roses  down, 
Civic  wreath  and  crown  and  cross; 
Turn  away  with  hearts  made  great 
By  the  greatness  of  your  loss  ! 
Spring  shall  wait; — 
To  her  sacred  care  entrust 
All  of  what  is  left  us  here  : — 
Dust  to  dust ! 


28  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Lay  your  costly  roses  down, 

Civic  wreath  and  cross  and  crown  ; 

These  are  frail  ! 

In  the  dim,  unwonted  shade, 

These  will  fade  ! 

But  when  next  ye  come  this  way, 

Ye  shall  find  the  Spring  still  here  ; 

And  a  grave  with  violets  set  ; 

Purple,  living  violet, 

With  the  tears  of  heaven  wet. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  29 


SIGHT. 

TRY  to  make  the  baby  on  my  knee 
Look  at  the  sunset ;  pointing  where  it  glows 
Beyond  the  window-pane  in  tints  of  rose 
And  violet  and  gold  ;  when  suddenly 
He  dimples  with  responsive  baby-glee, 
I  think  how  wonderfully  well  he  knows 
Its  beauty  ;  till  the  changing  child-face  shows 
He  had  not  seen  the  sky,  but  laughed  to  see 
The  sparkle  of  my  rings  ; — O  baby  dear, 
This  world  of  lovely  gems  and  sunsets,  bright 
With  children's  faces, — is  perhaps  the  near 
Though  lesser  glory,  dazzling  our  poor  sight, -1 
Until  we  cannot  see,  for  very  light, 
The  heaven  that  shines  for  us,  revealed  and  clear. 


3Q  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


PURITY. 

Some  souls  are  white 

With  perfectness,  like  stars  full-orbed  in  heaven, 
Silently  moving  through  the  stainless  blue  ; 
Seeming  naught  of  their  nature  to  have  drawn 
From  contact  with  the  earth  ;  and  some  are  white 
With  innocence,  like  daisies  that  too  near 
The  ground  their  fair  leaves  fearlessly  unfold. 

This  woman's  soul 

Is  white  with  purity  ;  the  snowy  bloom 
Of  a  camelia,  that  feels  no  disdain 
In  drawing  from  this  common  earth  of  ours 
The  sources  of  its  beauty  and  its  life  ; 
Yet  with  a  wise  and  lofty  self-control, 
Refuses  long  to  blossom  to  the  sun  ; 
Spreading  its  glossy  leaves  to  light  and  air  ; 
Winning  a  deep,  sure  knowledge  of  the  world  ; 
Rising  with  quiet  dignity  and  grace 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Into  a  higher  air  ;  and  when  at  last 

Its  stately  petals  open  to  the  day, 

Not  with  the  daisy's  foolish  trustfulness, 

But  with  the  confidence  of  slow-won  strength, 

To  the  world's  gaze  it  silently  unfolds 

The  perfect  flower  of  a  royal  soul, 

Not  innocent,  and  yet  forever  pure. 


32  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


A  ROSE. 

[AST  night  a  little  rose  of  love  was  laid 

Softly  in  this  poor  hand,  by  one  who  knew 
Not  what  most  gracious  breeze  from  heaven  blew 
The  blossom  in  his  path  ;  but  since,  he  said, 
All  loveliest  things  he  summoned  to  his  aid 
To  win  me, — let  the  fragrant  flower  that  grew 
Surely  in  Paradise  to  help  him  woo 
And  gain  his  wish, — be  mine  ;  then  half  afraid, 
Here  on  my  breast  I  laid  it,  where  it  glows 
With  such  rich  sudden  beauty,  that  my  eyes, 
Quickened  by  some  new  instinct,  recognize 
What  is  indeed  my  own  ;  for  the  fair  rose, — 
The  rose  of  love  bewilderingly  sweet — 
From  my  own  heart  had  fallen  at  his  feet ! 


7 HE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  33 


RUE  WITH  A  DIFFERENCE. 

It  is  said 

That  women  are  more  curious  than  men  ; — 
I  should  not  put  it  so  :  they  are  more  frank. 
A  woman  who  would  like  to  know  if  this 
Or  that  be  so  or  so,  makes  no  disguise, 
But  lifts  her  clear  eyes  candidly  to  yours 
And  asks  directly,  "  Is  this  true  ?  "  a  man, 
More  wise  and  quite  as  curious,  simply  states 
A  fact  :  "  This  is  so;'  knowing  well  indeed 
That  if  it  is  not,  no  true  woman  needs 
A  sharper  challenge  instantly  to  arm 
Her  soul  with  weapons  to  defend  herself, 
Her  country,  or  her  friends  ;  and  so  he  gains 
The  knowledge  that  he  wished,  and  yet  has  shown 
No  idle  curiosity  ! 


34  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


TO  MAY  H.  R- 


|ANY  a  lovely  dream  a  poet  might 

Weave  into  fancies  round  thy  lovely  name, 
Sweetheart ;  yet  I,  who  surely  have  no  claim 
To  be  a  poet, — (save  the  holy  right 
Love  gives  me  to  write  poems  at  the  sight 
Of  a  young  face  whose  eager  brightness  came 
As  part  of  life's  best  gift  to  me, — )  can  frame 
No  fitter  reason  why  in  such  delight 
I  hold  the  one  sweet  syllable,  than  this  : 
Not  for  its  visions  of  the  field  or  wood, 
But  for  its  wealth  of  possibilities  ; 
Its  hint  of  undefined,  ideal  good, 
Suggesting  all  thy  soul  can  scarcely  miss, 
That  May  one  day  crown  thy  rich  womanhood. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  35 


CYCLES. 

|ING  cheerily,  O  bluebird  from  on  high  ! 

Earth  will  be  blue  with  violets  by-and-by, 
More  blue  than  those  you  came  from  in  the  sky. 

Haste,  butterflies  !  for  radiant  Summer  brings 
A  crimson  rose  to  match  your  sunlit  wings, 
Brighter  than  violets  the  blue-bird  sings. 

Croon,  happy  insects  ;  violet  and  rose 

Have  faded  ;  yet  the  autumn  corn-field  glows 

Where  in  the  golden  grain  the  poppy  grows. 

Hush,  eager  voices  !  for  in  dreamless  sleep, 
Wrapped  in  cool  snow,  the  restless  earth  would  keep 
Forevermore  serenity  so  deep. 

Forevermore  ?  nay,  tired  earth,  not  so  ; 

Sweet  as  the  violets  of  long  ago 

The  pink  arbutus  rises  from  the  snow. 


36  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Gathered  too  eagerly,  it  fades  too  soon  ; 
Then  large  white  lilies  open  wide  in  June 
Their  golden  hearts  up  to  the  golden  noon. 

And  when  the  perfect  lily  in  the  gleam 

Of  too  much  sunlight,  fades  like  a  fair  dream, 

The  crimson  cardinals  fringe  the  brightening  stream. 

Then  once  again  the  softly  falling  snow  ; 
While  bright  above  the  ivy  green  below 
The  scarlet  berries  of  the  holly  glow. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T.  3  7 


EXPERIENCE. 

CHILD  laid  in  the  grave  ere  it  had  known 

Earth  held  delight  beyond  its  mother's  kiss; — 
A  fair  girl  passing  from  a  world  like  this 
Into  God's  vast  eternity,  alone  ; — 
A  brave  man's  soul  in  one  brief  instant  thrown 
To  deepest  agony  from  highest  bliss  ; — 
A  woman  steeling  her  young  heart  to  miss 
All  joys  in  life,  one  dear  one  having  flown  ; — 
These  have  I  seen  ;  yet  happier  these,  I  said, 
Than  one  who  by  experience  made  strong, 
Learning  to  live  without  the  precious  dead, 
Survive  despair,  outlive  remorse  and  wrong, 
Can  say  when  new  grief  comes,  with  unbowed  head, 
"Let  me  not  mourn J  J  shall  forget  ere  long  !  " 


38  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


A  TRUST  IN  GOD. 

She  knew 

She  was  not  wise  ;  was  conscious  in  herself 
Of  eager  impulses  that  would  have  wrecked 
Her  whole  heart's  happiness  a  thousand  times, 
Had  not  some  Power  from  without  herself 
Shut  down  the  sudden  gates,  and  with  its  stern 
"Thou  shalt  not /"left  her,  stunned  perhaps,  but 

saved. 

For  she  was.  but  a  woman,  and  her  will 
Hung  poised  upon  her  heart,  and  swayed  with  each 
Quick-passing  impulse,  like  a  humming-bird 
Lit  tremulous  on  some  rich-tinted  flower. 
Rich-tinted,  truly  ;  no  forget-me-not, 
Placid  with  blue  serenity  ;  nor  yet 
That  regal  flower,  stately  in  its  calm 
Fair  dignity,  that  hoards  its  loveliness 
From  common  gaze,  with  instinct  to  discern 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

The  presence  of  unworthy  worshippers. 
Not  till  the  twilight  shadows  have  shut  out 
The  common  crowd  that  would  have  rifled  all 
Its  queenly  beauty, — does  it  condescend 
For  him  who  with  a  patient  reverence 
Has  waited,  to  unfold  with  lovely  grace 
The  royal  petals  ;  and  it  droops  and  dies 
Before  the  garish  day  has  ushered  in 
Again  the  curious  crowd. 

This  woman's  soul 
Was  not  so  snowy  in  its  purity, 
And  not  so  keen  in  its  fine  instincts  ;  nay> 
But  tinted  with  all  splendid  hues,  intense 
With  high  enthusiasms,  and  yet  indeed 
Not  passionate,  but  pure  as  lilies  are. 
Transparent  flames  are  surely  just  as  pure 
As  icicles  ;  and  something  of  the  rich 
And  brilliant  glow  of  her  own  nature  fell 
On  everyone  about  her,  till  they  stood 
Transfigured  in  her  eyes,  with  glory  caught 
From  her  own  loveliness.     She  was  not  keen 


39 


40  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

To  judge  of  human  nature  ;  she  believed 
All  men  were  noble  ;  and  a  thousand  times 
The  poor  heart  would  have  offered  up  its  all 
On  some  unworthy  shrine,  had  not  the  fates 
Kindly  removed  the  shrine.     How  could  she  help 
Believe  that  God  had  stooped  from  highest  heaven, 
To  save  her  from  herself  ? 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  Til  YST.  41 


FORESIGHT. 

|NBAR,  O  heavy  clouds,  the  gated  West  ! 
That  this  most  weary  day,  beholding  so 
Her  goal,  may  hasten  her  sad  steps  ;  I  know 
She  comes  without  fair  gifts  ;  upon  her  breast 
Close-clasped,  the  pale  cold  hands  together  pressed 
Hold  nothing  ; — then  let  some  red  sunset  glow 
Tempt  her  to  seek  the  unknown  world  below 
The  far  horizon  where  she  hopes  for  rest ! 

At  last  the  day,  like  some  poor  toil-worn  slave, 
Passes,  and  leaves  in  sooth  no  gift  for  me  ; — 
Yet  I,  who  thought  my  heart  could  be  so  brave 
To  bear  what  I  had  wisdom  to  foresee, 
Sob  in  despair,  as  this  poor  day  that  gave 
Me  nothing,  sinks  behind  the  western  sea  ! 


42  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


TO  FRANK  S.  R . 

WITH   A   VIOL'.N. 

|HE  stately  trees  that  in  the  forest  grow 

Are  not  all  destined  for  the  same  high  thing  ; 
Some  burn  to  useless  cinders  in  the  glow 
Of  the  hearth-fire  ;  while  some  are  meant  to  sing 

For  centuries  the  never-dying  song 

Once  caught  from  wandering  breeze  or  lingering  bird 

So  clearly  and  so  surely,  that  the  strong 

Firm  wood  was  quickly  seized  by  one  who  heard, 

To  fashion  his  dear  violin  ; — even  so 

Our  human  souls  are  fashioned  ;  some  will  fade 

Away  to  useless  ashes,  others  grow 

Immortal  through  the  sweetness  they  have  made. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


43 


"  THE  EAGER  SUN  COMES  GLADLY  FROM 
THE  SEA." 

|HE  eager  sun  comes  gladly  from  the  sea  ; 

Remembering  that  one  short  year  ago 
He  rose  from  unknown  worlds  of  light  below 
Those  same  far  waves,  to  shine  on  you  and  me 
Standing  together  on  the  shore  ; — but  we 
Are  strangely  far  apart  to-day  ;  and  so 
The  saddened  sun  with  lingering  step  and  slow 
Climbs  the  horizon,  wondering  not  to  see 
Your  face  beside  mine  ;  nor  can  understand 
As  we  do,  dear,  that  you  and  I  to-day, — 
Though  million  miles  of  ocean  or  of  land 
And  centuries  of  time  between  us  lay, — 
Are  nearer  to  each  other  than  when  hand 
Touched  hand,  before  we  gave  our  hearts  away  ! 


44  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


RESERVE. 

I  hear  you  praise 
What  you  are  pleased  to  call  unsounded  depths 

Of  character  ;  a  nature  that  the  world 

/ 

Would  call  reserved  ;  tempting  you  while  it  hides- 
Or  you  suspect  it  hides — a  richer  wealth 
Deep  in  some  far  recesses  of  the  soul. 
As  if,  indeed,  you  should  approve  the  host 
Who  with  most  admirable  courtesy 
Should  throw  wide  open  to  your  curious  gaze 
His  drawing-room,  his  green-house  and  his  hall ; 
Yet  should  not  hesitate  to  let  you  see 
Certain  close-bolted  doors  of  hardest  oak, 
Upon  whose  thresholds  he  informed  you,  "  Here, 
Alas  !  I  cannot  let  you  enter." 
You 

At  once  are  filled  with  curiosity 
To  listen  at  the  keyhole. 


THE  RING  QF  AMETHYST.  45 

So  am  I  ; 

Yet  much  I  doubt  if  after  all  those  deep 
Recesses  of  the  soul  are  filled  with  aught 
But  emptiness.     Too  thick  the  cobwebs  hang  ; 
The  master  of  the  house  can  scarce  himself 
Feel  tempted  to  draw  back  such  heavy  bolts  ; 
Although  he  take  an  honorable  pride, 
Leaning  at  ease  in  comfortable  chair, 
To  know  there  are  some  chambers  in  his  soul 
Unentered  even  by  himself. 

But  him 

I  call  reserved,  whose  clear  eyes  seem  a  well 
Of  frank  sincerity  ;  whose  smiling  lips, 
Curving  with  hospitable  gayety, 
Bid  you  most  welcome  to  his  house  and  home  ; 
Throwing  wide  open  to  your  curious  ga^e 
Each  nook  and  corner  ;  leaving  you  at  ease 
To  wander  where  you  will  ;  and  if  at  times 
You  half  suspect  some  hidden  sweet  retreat 

Where  hyacinths  are  blossoming  unseen, 

> 

Tis  not  because  cold  iron-bolted  doors 


46  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Whisper  of  secrets  you  would  fain  explore  ; 
But  that  the  tapestries  upon  the  wall 
So  lightly  hang,  that  swaying  to  and  fro, 
They  half  betray  a  fragrance  from  within. 
You  never  once  suspect  that  secret  doors 
Are  sliding  in  the  panels  underneath  ; 
But  when  you  go,  the  master  of  the  house 
Lifts  easily  the  soft  and  shining  silk, 
To  find  there  sacred  silence  from  you  all. 

'Tis  easier 

To  read  the  secrets  of  a  dark,  deep  pool 
That  coldly  says,  "  You  cannot  fathom  me," 
With  unstirred  face  turned  blankly  to  the  sky, 
Than  catch  the  meaning  of  a  silver  spring, 
Though  crystal-clear,  above  whose  bright  full  heart 
Delicate  vine-leaves  flutter  in  the  sun. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T.  47 


A  SONG  OF  SUMMER. 

|ADEN  with  gifts  of  your  giving, 

O  summer  of  June  ! 
With  the  rapturous  idyl  of  living 
In  perfect  attune  ; 

With  the  sweetness  of  eve  when  it  closes 
A  day  of  delight ; 

With  the  tremulous  breath  of  the  roses 
Entrancing  the  night ; 
With  the  glow  of  your  cardinal  flowers 
On  lips  that  had  paled  ; 
And  the  coolness  of  silvery  showers 
For  hands  that  had  failed  ; 
With  geraniums  vivid  with  fire 
To  wear  on  my  breast, 
Where  the  lilies  had  paled  with  desire 
To  bring  to  me  rest ; 

With  the  joy  that  was  born  of  your  brightness 
Still  thrilling  my  soul, 


48  THE  RIXG  OF  AMETHYST. 

And  a  heart  whose  bewildering  lightness 

I  cannot  control  ; 

Ah  !  now  that  your  idyl  of  living 

Is  over  too  soon, 

What  gifts  can  compare  with  your  giving, 

O  summer  of  June  ? 

Then  a  wraith  of  the  winter  said  gently, 

"  I  will  not  deceive  ; 

Of  the  brightness  you  prize  so  intently 

No  trace  shall  I  leave. 

The  glow  of  the  cardinal  flowers 

Shall  pass  from  the  field, 

And  the  softness  of  silvery  showers 

To  ice  be  congealed  ; 

The  geraniums  vivid  with  fire 

Shall  curl  at  the  heart  ; 

And  the  lily  forget  the  desire 

Its  peace  to  impart  ; 

Pale  as  the  rose  that  is  dying, 

Your  whitening  cheek  ; 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Faint  as  its  tremulous  sighing, 

Words  you  would  speak  ; 

For  a  joy  that  was  born  of  their  brightness 

I  tremble  with  you, 

When  the  gleam  and  the  glory  and  lightness 

Shall  pass  with  the  dew. 

Ah  !  now  that  your  idyl  of  living 

Is  over  so  soon, 

What  gifts  will  be  left  of  your  giving, 

O  summer  of  June  ?" 


49 


50  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


THOUGHT. 

PALACE  richly  furnished  is  the  mind, 

In  whose  fair  chambers  we  may  walk  at  will  ; 
And  in  its  cloistered  calm,  serene  and  still, 
Continual  delight  and  comfort  find. 
Not  only  fretful  cares  we  leave  behind, 
But  restless  happiness,  and  hopes  that  fill 
The  eager  soul  with  too  much  light,  until 
Eyes  dazzled  see  less  wisely  than  the  blind. 
So  perfect  is  the  joy  we  find  therein, 
No  pleasures  of  the  outer  world  compare 
With  the  divine  repose  so  gladly  sought ; 
When  from  the  wearying  world  we  turn  to  win 
High  mental  solitude,  and  cherish  there 
Silent  companionship  with  lofty  thought. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


A   CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE. 

THOUGHT  to  hold  thy  memory  as  the  sea 

Holds  in  its  heart  a  pale  reflected  moon, 
Lost  when  the  sunny  radiance  of  noon 
Dissolves  the  moonlight's  tender  mystery. 

Lo  !  thou  art  not  her  semblance  in  the  seas, 
But  the  fair  moon  herself,  that  near  or  far, 
Orbed  high  in  heaven  as  a  shining  star 

Or  hid  from  sight  at  love's  antipodes  ; — 

Still  sways  the  waters  with  love's  restless  tides  ; 
Not  by  her  own  will ;  no  coquette  is  she, — 
The  lovely  moon  to  whom  I  liken  thee  ; — 

For  high  above  our  earthly  air  she  glides, 

Unconscious  as  the  waves  that  rise  to  greet 
Her  coming,  of  the  mystery  of  God's  law 
Compelling  her  those  far-off  waves  to  draw 

Forever  towards  her  whom  they  never  meet. 


5  2  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T. 

A  REMEMBERED  CRITIC. 
TO  J.  R.  D. 


words,  that  greater  kindness  still  implied 
From  one  unused  to  praise,  for  one  unknown 

To  him  and  to  the  world  where  he  had  grown 
Less  wont  to  cheer  the  artist  than  to  chide  ; 
And  always  in  my  heart  I  thought  with  pride 

Some  day  to  know  him,  and  for  him  alone 

Bring  the  fair  finished  work,  that  he  might  own  — 
"  O  friend,  behold  my  full  faith  justified  !  " 

Now  he  is  dead  !  a  man  severe,  they  said 
Who  knew  the  critic  ;  but  around  the  spot 

We  call  his  grave,  by  some  sweet  memory  led 
Of  kindred  sweetness,  violets  have  not 
Refused  to  bloom  ;  and  one  he  had  forgot 

Wept  suddenly  to  hear  that  he  was  dead. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  53 

DAWN. 

JAKE,  happy  heart,  O  awake  ! 

For  the  mists  are  flitting  away  ; 
And  the  hawthorn  boughs  for  thy  sake 
Are  eager  and  longing  to  break 

Into  garlands  of  blossoming  spray. 
Sing,  sing  it,  O  gay  little  linnet ! 
And  hasten,  O  glad  lark,  to  bring  it, 
The  beautiful  Day  ! 

0  Dawn,  I  am  hungry  with  yearning 
For  gifts  thou  canst  give  ; — 

The  proud  soul  within  me  is  burning 
With  new  life  to  live. 

1  am  strong  with  the  strength  of  long  sleeping  ; 
.    Fill  full  now  each  vein 

With  rich  crimson  wine  thou  art  keeping 

For  glad  hearts  to  drain  ! 
O  hush  !  for  the  clouds  break  asunder  ; 

Her  delicate  feet 
Touch  the  hills  with  a  reverent  wonder 


54  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

If  earth  will  be  sweet. 
And  the  heart  that  within  me  was  breaking 

With  longing  for  her, 
Breaks  utterly,  now  that  awaking 

I  hear  her  low  stir. 
So  frail  and  so  dainty  and  tender  ; 

What  heart  could  foresee 
That  the  goddess  it  longed  for,  a  slender 

Young  fairy  would  be  ? 
Empty-handed,  she  dreads  my  displeasure, 

And  turns  half  away  ; 
'Tis  for  me  then  to  give  of  my  treasure, 

O  beautiful  Day  ! 
Appealing,  she  waits  till  I  greet  her, 

With  no  gifts  for  me  ; 
Dear  Day,  after  all  it  is  sweeter 

For  me  to  crown  thee  ! 
If  I  am  not  a  happier  maiden 

Because  of  thy  stay, 

Thou  shalt  be  with  bright  gifts  from  me  laden, 
A  happier  Day  ! 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  55 


WITH  AN  ANTIQUE. 

| HE  old,  old  story  men  would  call  our  love 

One  cannot  think  of  any  time  so  old 
That  some  "  I  love  you  "  was  not  gladly  told 
To  some  one  listening  gladly  ;  each  remove 
Of  the  long  lingering  centuries  does  but  prove 
Its  deathlessness  ; — and  we  to-day  who  hold 
Each  other  dear  as  if  young  Love  had  sold 
To  us  alone  his  birthright  from  above, — 
Love's  secret  ours  alone, — turn  back  to  seek 
In  the  rich  types  of  Roman  art  or  Greek 
Some  fitting  gift  wherewith  to  fitly  speak 
A  love  that  each  heart  to  the  other  drew  ; — 
An  old,  old  story  it  may  seem  to  you  ; 
To  us,  each  year  more  beautiful,  more  new. 


56  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


DOUBT. 

Tell  me,  my  friend  ; 

Across  your  faith  (which,  pardon  me,  I  know 
To  be  sincere  and  honest ;  else,  indeed, 
I  had  not  spent  this  hour  with  you  here  ;) 
Across  your  faith,  then,  does  there  never  creep 
A  haunting  doubt  it  may  not  all  be  true  ? 
For  me,  although  my  life  were  spanned  above 
With  faith  as  honest  as  your  own,  if  once 
On  the  horizon  there  had  dawned  a  doubt 
No  bigger  than  a  pigmy's  little  hand, 
Then  heaven  would  be  always  overcast 
With  possible  untruth,  and  I  should  think 
The  stars  I  saw  were  but  poor  will-o'-the-wisps 
Created  in  my  brain,  beyond  which  rolled 
The  eternal  darkness  of  a  blank  despair. 
Whereas  now,  living  underneath  a  sky 
Continually  clouded, — when  a  rift 
Shows  me  a  tender  heavenly  blue  beyond, 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  57 

I  fancy  then  the  darkness  overhead 
May  be  a  gathered  mist  of  my  poor  brain, 
Beyond  which  rolls,  immortal  and  unstained, 
The  glory  of  the  everlasting  Truth  ! 


5  8  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST. 


"I   KNOW   MYSELF   THE   BEST-BELOVED 
OF  ALL." 

KNOW  myself  the  best-beloved  of  all 

The  many  dear  to  him  ;  yet  not  indeed 
Because  of  his  swift  thought  for  every  need 

Of  my  love's  craving  ;  I  could  scarcely  call 

My  very  own  the  power  to  enthrall 

Such  chivalry  as  his,  that  turns  to  heed 

Each  slightest  claim,  nor  thinks  to  ask  the  meed 

Of  love  returned  where  love's  sweet  offerings  fall. 
Not  then  because  of  all  he  is  to  me  ; 

But  by  this  surer  token  ;  when  he  earns 

The  right  to  his  own  happiness,  or  yearns 

For  some  sweet,  sudden,  answering  sympathy, 
Ah  me  !  with  what  quick-beating  heart  I  see 

For  his  own  joy  it  is  to  me  he  turns  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  59 


OCTOBER. 

The  very  air 

Has  grown  heroic  ;  a  few  crimson  leaves 
Have  fallen  here  ;  yet  not  to  yield  their  breath 
In  pitiful  sighing  at  so  sad  a  fate, 
But  royally,  as  with  spilt  blood  of  kings. 
The  full  life  throbs  exultant  in  my  veins, 
Till  half  ashamed  to  wear  so  high  a  mood, 
Not  for  some  splendid  triumph  of  the  soul, 
But  simply  in  response  to  light  and  air, 
Slowly  I  let  it  fall. 

And  later,  steal 

Down  the  broad  garden-walk,  where  cool  and  clear 
The  sharp-defined  white  moonlight  marks  the  path. 
Not  the  young  moon  that  shy  and  wavering  down 
Trembled  through  leafy  tracery  of  the  boughs 
In  happy  nights  of  June  ;  the  peace  that  wraps 
Me  here  is  not  the  warm  and  golden  peace 
Of  summer  afternoons  that  lull  the  soul 


60  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

To  dreamy  indolence  ;  but  strong  white  peace, 
Peace  that  is  conscious  power  in  repose. 
No  fragrance  floats  on  the  autumnal  air  ; 
The  white  chrysanthemums  and  asters  star 
The  frosty  silence,  but  their  leaves  exhale 
No  passion  of  remembrance  or  regret. 
The  perfect  calmness  and  the  perfect  strength 
My  senses  wrap  in  an  enchanted  robe 
Woven  of  frost  and  fire  ;  while  in  my  soul 
Blend  the  same  mingled  sovereignty  and  rest ; 
As  if  indeed  my  spirit  had  drained  deep 
Some  delicate  elixir  of  rich  wine, 
Ripened  beneath  the  haughtiest  of  suns, 
Then  cooled  with  flakes  of  snow. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  6l 

SERENITY. 

|ER  days  are  as  a  silver-flowing  stream  ; — 
Above,   the   rippling    sunbeams    flash    and 

gleam  ; 
Beneath,  strong  currents  noiseless  as  a  dream. 

Her  heart  is  like  the  lilies  that  bloom  wide 
In  restful  beauty  on  the  restless  tide, 
Asking  not  where  the  eager  waters  glide. 

Her   thoughts   are   white-winged   birds,  that   from 

below 

To  the  high  heavens  soar  and  vanish  so — 
Alas  !  mine  cannot  follow  where  they  go. 

Her  joys  are  bright-winged  birds  that  from  on  high 
Come  singing  down,  and  tempt  the  stream  to  try 
And  sing  with  them  as  they  flit  singing  by. 

Her  sorrows — she  has  none  her  heart  will  own  ; 
The  air  is  silent  when  the  birds  have  flown  ; 
But  the  poor  stream  still  sings  the  song,  alone. 


62  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"A  YEAR  AGO  TO-DAY,  LOVE." 

YEAR  ago  to-day,  love,  for  the  space 

Of  a  brief  sudden  moment,  richly  fraught 
With    deeper    meaning    than    our    light    hearts 

thought, 

You  held  my  hand  and  looked  into  the  face 
Which,  poor  in  gifts,  has  since  by  God's  good  grace 
Grown   dear   to   you ; — and    the    full   year    has 

brought 
Friendship — and   love — and   marriage  ;    yet    has 

taught 
My  heart  to  call  you  in  its  sacred  place 

Still  by  the  earliest  name  ;  for  you  who  are 
My  lover  and  my  husband,  and  who  bring 
Heaven  close  around  me,  will  not  let  me  cling 

To  that  near  heaven  ;  but  tempt  my  soul  afar 
By  your  ideals  for  me  ;  till  life  end, 
My  calm,  dispassionate,  sincerest  friend. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  63 

STEADFAST. 

Not  like  the  stars  that  high  in  heaven 
Shine  so  serenely  with  unchanging  rays 
That  marveling  at  their  calmness,  you  believe 
Of  their  "  firm-fixed  and  lasting  quality" 
There  is  no  type  upon  the  earth  beneath. 
A  few  weeks  hence  look  up,  and  you  shall  find 
Each  steadfast  planet  steadfastly  has  moved 
Across  the  midnight  azure  of  the  sky 
With  silent  rays  still  tranquil  and  serene. 
Not  steadfast  like  the  stars  is  she  I  love, 
But  as  this  gem  I  wear  upon  my  breast ; 
Whose  rich  rays  wander  from  me  through  the  room, 
Sparkling  and  fading  with  capricious  gleam 
Of  light  and  color,  like  the  varying  moods 
Of  my  beloved  one  ;  those  who  turn  to  praise 
The  beauty  of  the  gem,  admire  most 
The  changefulness  of  its  most  restless  rays  ; 
Yet  I  feel  no  uneasiness  or  doubt  ; 
Knowing  full  well  whenever  I  look  down 
Upon  my  breast,  the  jewel  will  be  there. 


64  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

WITH  A  CRYSTAL  LION. 

FOR    L.    R.    \V. 


watch  and  ward, 
In  stately  guard, 
Around  my  Una's  wayward  feet  ; 
Not  lest  she  tread 
False  ways  instead 
Of  higher  paths,  serenely  sweet  ;  — 

But  lest  in  care 

For  all  who  share 
Her  tender  ministry,  too  late 

Her  frail  strength  yield  ;  — 

Be  thou  her  shield  ; 
They  also  serve  who  sometimes  wait  ! 

Of  crystal,  clear 
As  in  its  sphere 
Her  lofty  spirit  moves  alway  ;  —  • 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  65 

Of  massive  strength 
As  all  at  length 
Will  find  who  make  her  soul  their  stay  ; — 

With  flowers  and  buds 

Whose  sweetness  floods 
The  air  even  when  we  cannot  see  ; — 

This  gift  I  send 

My  earliest  friend  ; — 
Dear  type  of  all  she  is  to  me  ! 


66  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

ABSENT-MINDED. 

|OU  chide  me   that  with   self-absorbed,  rapt 

eyes 

I  seem  to  walk  apart,  nor  care  to  clasp 
Familiar  hands  once  dear  ;  like  one  whose  house 
Filled  with  the  guests  of  her  own  choosing,  rings 
With  sounds  of  gladness,  yet  who  steals  away 
Up  to  some  silent  chamber  of  her  own, 
Forgetful  of  the  duties  of  a  host. 

But  is  not  she 

The  truest  and  most  hospitable  friend 
Who,  noting  suddenly  among  her  guests 
An  unexpected  comer,  one  to  whom 
She  fain  would  show  high  honor  and  respect, 
Hastens  away  with  busy  feet  awhile 
To  throw  wide  open  to  the  sun  and  air 
Some  long-untenanted  fair  chamber,  rich 
With  storied  heirlooms  of  her  ancestors, 
Bright  with  long  windows  looking  towards  the  sun, 
Waiting  but  for  an  occupant  ? 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  67 

Even  so 

Have  I  but  stolen  quietly  away, 
Within  the  happy  silence  of  my  heart 
A  lovely,  sunny  chamber  to  prepare 
For  a  new-comer. 


68  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

ANSWERED  PRAYER. 

|  AT  HER,  whose  tenderness  has  wrapped  me 

round 

In  a  great  need, — to  what  shall  I  compare 
Strength  thou  hast  sent  in  answer- to  my  prayer  ? 
Not  to  the  help  some  falling  vine  has  found, 
That  trailing  listless  on  the  frozen  ground 
Clings  suddenly  to  some  high  trellis  there, 
Lifting,  itself  once  more  into  the  air 
With  timid  tendrils  on  the  lattice  wound. 
Rather  to  help  the  drooping  plant  has  won, 
That  weary  with  the  beating  of  the  rains 
Feels  quickening  in  its  own  responsive  veins 
The  sudden  shining  of  a  distant  sun. 
When  from  within  the  strength  and  gladness  are, 
My  soul  knows  that  its  help  comes  from  afar. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  69 


EXPRESSION. 

A  wave 

Throbs  restless  in  the  darkness  on  the  sea. 
Glorious  in  heaven  shines  a  strong  white  star, 
Sending  long  slender  lines  of  level  light 
Serenely  through  the  stillness  ;  and  the  wave 
Takes  to  its  heart  the  beautiful  bright  thing, 
Unconscious  that  it  now  stands  self-revealed 
In  its  own  palpitating  restlessness. 
"  How  very  strange,"  it  murmurs  to  itself, 
"  That  a  great  radiant  star  should  tremble  so, 
Even  as  I  do  ;  and  more  strange  it  seems, 
That  it  should  be  so  willing  to  betray 
Itself  by  shining." 

And  meanwhile  in  heaven 
The  star,  with  eyes  fixed  only  upon  God, 
Sweeps  through  the  stately  circles  of  the  skies 
In  motion  grand  as  silence  ;  undisturbed 
And  self-contained  ;  not  dreaming  that  below, 


70  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

A  little  wave  whose  tremulous  young  heart 
Has  caught  a  little  of  its  brightness,  thinks 
To  read  and  to  interpret  for  itself 
The  heavenly  mysteries. 

Even  so  I  hear 

Men  call  it  strange  that  poets  should  reveal 
The  sacred  secrets  of  their  inmost  souls 
To  every  idlest  reader. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  71 

FULFILLMENT. 

1URN   bright,  O    sunset    sky,  with   tints   like 


wine 


From  all  the  west  let  the  glad  tidings  shine, 
So  beautiful  a  joy  is  to  be  mine. 

O  little  lily,  lean  into  the  gloom  ! 

Pour  from  thy  deep  cup  all  its  rare  perfume, 

Sweeter  will  be  my  joy  when  it  shall  bloom. 

Sing  gayly,  that  the  richer  world  with  me 
May  so  rejoice  in  joy  that  is  to  be, 
O  little  birds  upon  the  Maple  tree  ! 

0  happy  heart,  send  up  to  eyes  and  cheek 
The  gladness  that  I  have  no  words  to  speak  ; 
The  fairest  ones  too  powerless  and  weak. 

Nay,  burning  sky,  hide  thy  too  brilliant  glow  ! 

1  would  not  that  the  curious  world  should  know 
The  sacred  joy  that  now  has  blessed  me  so. 


72  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

0  little  lily,  leaning  from  the  gloom, 

Hold  thy  too  fragrant  breath,  that  there  be  room 
In  the  deep  stillness  for  my  heart  to  bloom. 

Hush,  little  birds  upon  the  Maple  tree  ! 

1  cannot  hear,  ye  sing  so  noisily, 

The  sweeter  song  my  soul  would  sing  to  me. 

O  happy  lids,  droop  over  happy  eyes, 
Lest  all  the  marvel  of  their  dear  surprise 
Escape  once  more  to  the  far  Paradise, 

From  which  joy  came  so  gently  to  my  breast, 

Forevermore  to  be  its  cherished  guest  ; 

Not  seeking  there,  but  bringing,  heavenly  rest. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  73 


"  THERE  WILL  BE  SILENCE  HERE,  LOVE." 

| HERE  will  be  silence  here,  love,  in  the  slow 
Long  summer  months  when  there  are  none 

to  break 

The  stillness  with  the  laugh  of  those  who  wake 
New-born  each  day  to  joy  ;  and  yet  I  know 
The  stillness  cannot  be  so  still,  or  grow 
So  deeply  soundless,  but  that  for  my  sake 
The  memory-haunted,  lonely  rooms  will  take 
Some  echo  of  my  vanished  voice  ; — even  so, 
Amid  the  scenes  to  which  I  have  no  choice 
But  go  without  thee,  dearest,  there  will  be 
No  gayety  so  gay,  no  glad  light  glee 
Wherein  with  others  I,  too,  must  rejoice, 
But  through  it  all  my  heart  will  make  for  me 
Silence,  wherein  I  shall  but  hear  thy  voice. 


74  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

FAITH  IN  WORKS. 

|Y  faith  begins  where  your  religion  ends  : 

In  service  to  mankind.     This  single  thread 
Is  given  to  guide  us  through  the  maze  of  life. 
You  start  at  one  end,  I  the  other  ; — you, 
With  eyes  fixed  only  upon  God,  begin 
With  lofty  faith,  and  seeking  but  to  know 
And  do  His  will  who  guides  the  universe, 
You  find  the  slender  and  mysterious  thread 
Leads  down  to  earth,  with  God's  divine  command 
To  help  your  fellow-men  ;  but  this  to  me 
Is  something  strangely  vague  ;  I  see  alone 
The  fellow-men,  the  suffering  fellow-men. 
Yet  with  a  cup  of  water  in  my  hand 
For  all  who  thirst,  who  knows  but  I  one  day, 
Following  faithfully  the  slender  thread, 
May  reach  its  other  end,  and  kneel  at  last 
With  you  in  heaven  at  the  feet  of  God  ? 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T.  75 

"No.  33— A  PORTRAIT." 
FOR   R.    H.    L. 

|ITH  careless  step  I  wander  through  the  hall 
Scarce  heeding  many  a  work  of  lovely  art ; 

Till  with  a  sudden  thrill  my  listless  heart 
Leaps  up  to  greet  upon  a  stranger's  wall 
Those  dear  remembered  eyes  ; — her  face,  with  all 

The  dreamy  charm  that  made  so  sweet  a  part 

Of  my  life  once  ; — and  tender  memories  start 
To  meet  her  at  her  unexpected  call. 

True  portrait  of  the  unforgotten  face, 
How  do  I  thank  thee,  that  dost  give  me  here 
Tidings  from  her,  so  distant  yet  still  dear 
To  me  ; — for  as  I  bid  the  painting  tell 
If  all  be  well  with  her,  its  pictured  grace 
Answers  beyond  all  doubting,  "•//  is  well !  " 


76  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


LONGING. 

|OT  high  above  us  with  the  pitiless  stars, 

Nor  deep  below  us  in  the  soundless  sea, 
Nor  far  away  to  east  or  westward,  lie 
The  little  things  we  long  for. 

Here  they  are  ; 

Close  to  our  hands,  the  eager,  restless  hands 
That  fain  would  grasp  them  ;  and  no  fetters  bind 
The  wistful  fingers  ;  no  relentless  fate 
Tells  us  we  must  not ;  we  are  wholly  free 
To  take  them  if  we  choose. 

And  yet — and  yet — 

We  dare  not !  lest  the  soul  should  wake  some  day, 
Years  hence,  perhaps,  to  sense  of  other  needs. 
God  save  us  ever  from  those  sudden  moods 
When  all  life  narrows  to  a  single  point, 
And  when  the  poor  heart  seizes  its  desire. 
Only  to  wake  to  deeper  restlessness. 
But  after  all,  what  matter  ?  would  it  be 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  77 

Harder  to  wake  years  hence  to  sense  of  thirst 
Than  to  stand  thirsty  now  ?  for  sunny  wine 
Sparkles  before  us,  and  a  precious  pearl, 
Eager  to  lose  its  life  upon  our  lips, 
Waits  but  our  instant  grasping  to  dissolve 
Its  costly  beauty  in  the  nectar. 

Nay! 

We  have  no  right  to  the  white  lovely  pearl. 
God  give  us  strength  not  to  stretch  out  our  hands  ! 
See  !  they  are  slipping  slowly  from  our  reach — 
Fading  into  the  darkness — 

They  are  gone — 
The  little  things  we  longed  for ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


THE  NEW  DAY. 

[UPREME  through  all  the  hours  of  the  day 
I  hold  one  sweetest  :  not  the  day  or  hour, 
Dear,  when  you  came  to  me  ;  nor  yet  the  flower 
Of  perfect  days,  though  that  is  sweet  alway, 
When  your  love  came  to  me  ;  I  cannot  say 
Why  these  are  not  divinest  in  their  power  ; 
Yet  as  each  new  day  comes,  it  brings  for  dower 
One  moment  whose  rich  gladness  will  outweigh 
All  others  :  that  first  moment  when  the  night 
Yields  to  the  daylight's  clear  and  vivid  blue  ; 
And  waking  to  things  real  from  things  that  seem, 
My  eager  eyes  unclose  to  the  fair  light, 
Still  undeceived  ;  to  find  their  visions  true, 
And  that  your  love  for  me  was  not  my  dream. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


CONFESSION. 

The  eager  year 

Is  passing,  with  its  triumphs  and  defeats. 
Alike  earth  rests  from  labor  and  from  joy ; 
Hushing  each  tiniest  insect,  wearing  now 
No  careless  ornament  of  flower  or  leaf  ; 
Reaching  her  pleading  arms  up  to  the  sky 
In  longing  for  its  silent  chrism  of  snow 
In  benediction  ;  like  a  weary  heart, 
That  worn  with  spent  emotion,  sinks  at  last 
Into  exhaustion  that  almost  seems  rest. 
Not  brooding  over  her  lost  violets, 
High  in  her  hands  upon  the  leafless  trees 
She  holds  the  woodbine,  swaying  in  the  wind, 
A  crimson  rosary  of  remembered  sins. 

How  shall  we  keep  this  solemn  festival, 
Thou,  O  my  heart,  and  I  ?  have  we  no  sins 
It  would  be  well,  confessing  here  to-night, 


79 


8o  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

To  know  forgiven  ?  Not  to  some  gentle  friend 
Whose  tenderness  ere  half  the  tale  were  told 
Would  silence  it  with  kisses  ;  but  before 
A  more  severe  tribunal  in  my  own 
Exacting  soul,  that  could  endure  no  blot 
Upon  the  scutcheon  of  its  spotless  truth. 
Not  without  hope  of  pardon  ;  for  the  soul 
Is  sponsor  to  the  heart ;  if  she  can  tell 
Of  purest  purpose  loftily  upheld, 
We  need  not  be  so  sad,  my  heart  and  I, 
To  wear  a  little  while  upon  our  breast 
The  crimson  rosary. 

And  when  the  soul 

Shall  speak  at  last  the  full  "  Absolvo  te" 
Then  will  we  lay  forevermore  aside 
These  memories  of  fault.     Earth  does  not  wear 
Her  scarlet  woodbine  all  the  year,  to  pain 
Her  beating  heart  with  constant  self-reproach. 
Content  with  frank  and  full  confession  once, 
The  trembling  vine,  with  sighing  of  the  wind, 
Drops  slowly,  one  by  one,  its  deep  red  leaves. 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  g  I 

So  having  won  forgiveness  from  myself, 
Listening  I  hear  the  far-off  harmonies 
Of  solemn  chant  in  heaven  :  "  Though  thy  sins 
Had  been  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  like  wool." 
God's  benediction  calms  my  troubled  heart, 
Pained  with  its  consciousness  of  frailty, 
Even  as  upon  the  fading  crimson  leaves 
Fall  tenderly  the  first  white  flakes  of  snow. 


82  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


AMONG    THOSE    JOYS    FOR   WHICH    WE 
UTTER  PRAISE." 

|MONG  those  joys  for  which  we  utter  praise 

That  were  not  in  our  lives,  one  year  ago  ; — 
(No  need  to  name  them,  dearest ;  for  you  know 
Each  one  that  came,  our  ignorant  hearts  to  raise 
To  love's  high  level  ;)  let  us  count  the  days 
Before  we  knew  each  other  ;  days  when  no 
Sweet  premonition  of  love's  full  rich  glow 
Gleamed  on  the  darkness  of  our  separate  ways. 
All  preludes  should  be  simple  ;  that  no  dream 
Or  hint  of  this  new  beauty  came  to  fill 
The  unconscious  hours  with  meaning,  does  but  seem 
Fit  introduction  to  the  joys  that  thrill 
Our  glad  souls  now,  from  love  that  knew  no  still 
Awaking, — but  dawned  instantly  supreme. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  83 

BECAUSE. 

JOT  because  you  are  gentle  of  speech, 

O  brave  knight  of  mine  ! 
Nor  because  in  the  chivalrous  list 
With  the  brightest  you  shine  ; 
Nor  because  when  you  pass  on  the  street 
All  the  world  turn  to  praise 
The  wonderful  charm  of  your  look 
And  grace  of  your  ways  ; 
Nor  because  in  your  presence  I  know 
I  have  but  to  command, 
And  the  coveted  treasures  at  once 
Will  fall  from  your  hand  ; 
Nor  because  by  *he  glance  of  your  eyes 
That  so  tenderly  drew 
My  whole  heart  unto  yours,  I  may  know 
I  am  perfect  to  you  ; 

But  because  in  your  presence,  dear,  / 
Grow  gentle  of  speech  ; 


84  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST, 

The  haughty  young  maiden  who  once 

Was  so  wilful  to  teach  ; 

And  because  when  I  pass  on  the  street 

All  the  world  turn  to  praise 

A  certain  new  charm  in  my  look 

And  grace  in  my  ways  ; 

And  because  in  your  presence  I  lose 

The  proud  wish  to  command  ; 

Contented,  nay  eager,  dear  love, 

To  be  led  by  your  hand  ; 

And  because  your  eyes  full  of  reproach 

At  some  things  that  I  do, 

Still  show  the  belief  I  shall  grow 

To  be  worthy  of  you  ; — 

Do  I  love  you  ?  'twere  idle  indeed 

To  refuse  now  to  yield  ; 

Quite  useless  for  lips  to  deny 

What  the  eyes  have  revealed  ; 

Yet  not,  (let  me  say  it,  for  fear 

That  too  vain  you  should  be — ) 

Not  so  much  for  what  you  are  yourself, 

As  for  what  yoXi  make  me  ! 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  8  5 


IVY. 

[HREADING  its   noiseless   way   among   fair 

things 

Love-chosen  to  make  beautiful  my  room, 
The  ivy  spreads  its  tender  living  gloom, 
Darkening  and  brightening  the  wall  ;  now  clings 
Closely  around  some  picture,  and  now  swings 
Some  airy  shoot  of  tremulous  young  bloom 
Into  the  freer  sunlight  ;  till  the  doom 
Of  their  slow  silent  fate  together  brings 
At  last  the  branches  that  for  long  years  went 
Their  single,  separate  ways.     Did  no  swift  thrill 
Of  subtle  recognition  flash,  and  fill 
Their  veins  ?  Oh  Ivy,  still  must  we  lament 
Thou  canst  not  with  our  joy  in  thee  have  part, 
And  thyself  know  how  fair  a  thing  thou  art  ! 


86  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


INFLUENCE. 

Hearts  that  are  glad 
Beat  quicker  for  the  smiling  of  her  lips  ; 
Even  as  the  summer  air  that  seems  o'ercharged 
With  fragrance,  will  grow  even  sweeter  still 
At  sudden  blossoming  of  one  more  rose. 

But  the  rose,  too, 

Has  her  own  secret.     From  the  heavenly  blue, 
Regnant  upon  his  throne  of  light,  the  sun 
Sends  her  his  glances  ;  till  the  timid  rose 
Slowly,  leaf  after  leaf,  unveils  to  him 
Her  beauty  ;  and  the  summer  air  at  once 
Takes  to  itself  the  soft  and  fragrant  sigh, 
Nor  dreams  she  offered  to  a  distant  sun 
The  incense  of  her  soul. 

Even  so  I  hear 

You  praise  a  sudden  sweetness  in  her  ways, 
Grown  strangely  kind  and  tender  to  us  all  ; 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  87 

For  me,  I  recognize  the  o'erfull  heart, 
Trembling  and  faint  with  effort  to  express 
Surcharge  of  beauty  that  her  soul  has  drawn 
From  one  who  stood  above  her. 


8  8  THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YS  T. 


MIRACLE. 

(F  love  had  found  me  in  cold  cheerless  ways 

And  led  me  forth  into  the  light  ;• — if  bloom 
Of  sweet  and  sudden  flowers,  instead  of  gloom 
In  the  long  nights  and  unillumined  days, 
Thy  love  had  brought  me  ; — then  at  love's  high  praise 
I  had  not  so  much  wondered  ; — if  the  doom 
Of  pitiless  destiny  had  given  room 
To  thy  bright  presence  , — then  in  swift  amaze 
I  were  less  awed  than  now.     No  life  could  be 
More  sweet  than  that  past  life  of  mine,  I  thought  ; 
And  when  the  changing  years  in  fulness  brought 
Another  life  enriched  by  love  and  thee, 
That  all  my  beautiful  past  should  seem  as  naught, — 
This  is  the  miracle  Love  wrought  for  me  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"  SHE  CAME  AND  WENT." 

|S  a  shy  bird  that  startled  from  her  nest 

Wings  her  far  way  into  the  highest  blue, 
Nor  dreams  that  she  has  left  us  any  clue 
To  find  which  elm  tree  had  been  loved  the  best  ; 

Though  all  the  while  its  light  boughs,  fluttering 
In  the  deep  noonday  silence,  softly  beat 
Their  soundless  echoes  to  her  flying  feet 
Now  swiftly  in  the  blue  air  vanishing  :  — 

So  haply  you  would  keep  a  secret,  dear, 
Your  unseen  presence  in  my  little  room, 
That  glorified  into  unwonted  bloom 
Betrays  to  me  what  fair  guest  has  been  here. 

Who  else,  dear,  in  my  absence  would  have  thought 
To  close  the  favorite  book,  left  open  here 
Where  a  disputed  passage  was  made  clear 
By  a  few  words  with  tedious  patience  sought  ;  — 


90  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Then  with  a  sudden  and  repentant  grace 
That  all  the  mischief  of  its  fault  bereft, 
Have  found  the  very  page  again,  and  left 
A  rose  in  the  shut  book  to  mark  the  place. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


DREAMERS. 
I. 

SAW  her,  though  with  earnest  eyes  bent  low, 

Unheedful  of  the  violets  at  her  feet, 
That  clustering  in  purple  fragrance  sweet 
Touched  her  white  dress  ;  absorbed  in  revery  so, 
She  knew  not  that  the  morning  sunshine's  glow 
Was  for  her  sake  ;  and  robins,  fain  to  greet 
So  fair  a  lady  with  a  love-song  meet, 
No  recognition  won  from  her  below. 

0  dreamer  of  a  dream  thy  heart  shall  see 
Crowned  with  fulfillment  when  the  dawn  of  day 
Has  deepened  into  noontide's  richer  gleam,  — 
Lest  I  too  rudely  should  awaken  thee, 

With  hushed  and  reverent  step  I  steal  away, 
Praying  God  bless  the  dreamer  and  the  dream  ! 

II. 

1  saw  her  with  her  tearful  eyes  raised  high, 
Unheedful  of  the  whirling  flakes  of  snow, 
That  flitting  through  the  sad  air  to  and  fro 


02  THF  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Flecked  her  dark  dress  ;  cold  from  the  leaden  sky, 

The  autumn  winds  came  sobbing  restless  by, 

Wailing  to  find  it  still  so  cold  below  ; 

While  faded  violets  of  a  year  ago, 

Pressed  to  her  lips,  hushed  her  own  rising  cry.  * 

0  lonely  dreamer  of  a  dream  long  flown, 

1  come  to  waken  thee  !  for  dying  day 

In  purple  twilight  shrouds  the  noontide  gleam  ; 
And  when  the  lovely  visions  that  have  grown 
So  fair  and  dear  flit  vanishing  away, 
God  blesses  dreamers  who  no  longer  dream. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  93 


ANDROMEDA. 

[OOSEN  my  arms  !  leave  me  one  poor  hand 

free, 

That  I  may  shut  one  moment  from  my  sight 
The  dreadful  heaving  of  the  shuddering  sea  ! 
For  as  it  creeps  back  slowly  from  my  feet, 
Rise  from  its  inky  depths  swift-coming  waves 
Big  with  the  terrible  and  nameless  thing 
That  soon  along  the  shrinking  sands  will  crawl 
To  wrap  me  in  its  hideous  embrace. 
I  will  not  struggle  !  leave  me  but  one  hand 
To  shield  the  poor  eyes  that  refuse  to  close  ; 
For  stretched  and  wide  the  fascinated  lids 
Deny  their  office,  and  I  needs  mast  look  ! 
What  have  I  done,  that  these  fair  limbs  of  mine, 
(Nay,  nay  ;  I  meant  not  fair ;  the  gods  forbid 
That  I  should  boast !)  but  young  and  piteous 
And  tender  with  soft  flesh — O  mother,  take 
Your  proud  words  back  !  O  nymphs,  be  pitiful ! 


94  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

The  green  waves  part,  and  poisonous  is  the  air  ! 
Red  the  fangs  glitter  !  save  me,  O  ye  gods  ! 

Nay,  what  is  this  that  wraps  my  shuddering  limbs 
With  sudden  coolness  ? — Can  it  be  that  now 
The  merciless  tall  cliff  which  all  day  long 
Refused  its  wonted  shadow  to  protect 
My  burning  body  from  the  dazzling  sun, 
Relents,  and  spreads  its  gentle  shade  around 
To  calm  my  reeling  senses  ?     Nay,  for  more 
It  seems  to  me  like  white  o'ershadowing  wings, 
Circling  above  my  head.     Alas  !  so  dim 
My  poor  eyes  are  with  tears,  I  cannot  see 
What  this  may  be  so  near  me  ;  yet  it  seems 
Like  some  young,  gallant  knight.     Alack,  good  sir, 
If  thou  art  come  to  free  my  quivering  limbs, 
Know  that  against  the  gods  contend  in  vain 
The  bravest  knights.     And  yet  how  like  a  god 
Himself  he  stands  !  See  how  he  spurns  the  ground. 
Poised  with  sustaining  wings  upon  the  air, 
And  deals  the  monster  a  sharp,  sudden  blow 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  95 

That  sends  him  reeling  from  the  trembling  shore  ! 
Shattered,  I  hear  the  chains  fall  to  my  feet ; 
Yet  much  I  fear  another  gentler  fate 
Fetters  my  heart  anew.     O  valiant  knight, 
If  in  thy  sight  this  tearful  face  was  fair, — 
(Fair  dare  I  call  it  now  ;  since  thou  art  near 
To  shield  me  ever  from  the  envious  hate 
Of  those  less  fair  !)  if  worth  it  seemed  to  thee 
The  dreadful  daring  of  the  doubtful  fight, 
Surely  that  best  should  be  thy  dear  reward 
Which  prompted  thee  to  struggle  ;  all  is  thine  ! 
The  dim  eyes,  dull  with  weeping  bitter  tears, 
Shall  brighten  at  the  sound  of  thy  strong  voice  ; 
The  frail  hands,  red  with  struggling  to  be  free, 
Once  more  shall  turn  to  lilies  in  thy  clasp  ; 
Rose-red  for  thee  shall  flush  with  happiness 
The  poor,  pale  cheeks,  still  white  with  sickening  fear ; 
The  tired  feet  sustained  and  strong  shall  grow, 
Walking  beside  thee  ;  nay,  dear  love,  not  yet  ; 
For  still  they  tremble,  still  I  seem  to  need 
Thy  firm  supporting  arm  around  me  thrown. 


96  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Fold  me  then,  dearest,  in  thy  close  embrace  ; 
Bear  me  across  the  treacherous,  yielding  sands, 
To  that  far  country  which  must  needs  be  fair, 
Since  thou  hast  followed  from  its  chivalry, 
Where  I  may  now  forget  all  else  but  thee. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


LOVE  SONG. 

[REAMING  of  love  and  fame,  sweetheart, 

I  dreamed  that  a  sunbeam  shone 
For  a  wavering  instant,  and  where  it  played 
A  hundred  flowers  had  grown. 
The  sunshine  flitting  so  soon  away 
Was  a  smile  thou  hadst  given  me  ; 
And  the  flowers  that  bloomed  in  the  world  for  aye, 
Were  the  songs  I  wrote  for  thee. 

Waking  to  love  and  life,  sweetheart, 

I  saw  fair  flowers  fade  ; 

While  still  from  the  measureless  heavens  above 

The  flickering  sunshine  played. 

The  flowers  fading  from  all  men's  sight 

Were  the  songs  they  had  heard  from  me  ; 

And  the  light  that  illumined  the  world  to  them, 

Was  a  single  smile  from  thee  ! 


98  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


CLOSED. 

|ITHIN  her1  soul  there  is  a  sacred  place, 

Forever  set  apart  to  holy  thought ; 
There  once  a  miracle  divine  was  wrought, 
And  common  things  grew  fair  with  heavenly  grace. 
Think  not  to  know  the  secret  of  that  room  ; — 
Closed  is  the  door,  even  to  herself  ;  no  more 
She  lingers  there,  though  well  our  hearts  are  sure 
It  is  no  spot  of  shadowy,  haunted  gloom. 
The  violets  that  blossom  there  unseen 
Were  never  gathered,  and  so  never  fade  ; 
Breathing  serenely  through  the  gentle  shade 
Their  memories  of  all  that  once  had  been. 
When  in  the  thoughtful  twilight  we,  her  friends, 
Walk  with  her,  and  in  spirit  dimly  feel 
A  strange,  rare  fragrance  o'er  the  senses  steal, 
Let  us  speak  softly  of  a  Past  that  sends 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Through  the  closed  crevice  of  its  silent  door, 
No  bitterness  in  those  remembered  hours  ; 
But  in  the  delicate  breath  of  such  fair  flowers 
Only  the  sweetness  of  the  days  of  yore. 


99 


100  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


BABY-HOOD. 

M.  W.  R. 
I  EAR  bird  of  mine,  with  strong  and  untried 

wing, 

Ignorant  yet  of  restless  fluttering, 
How  long  will  you  be  so  content  to  sing 

For  me  alone  ?  when  will  the  world  be  stirred 
By  notes  that  even  I  have  scarcely  heard, 
Since  you  are  still  only  a  mocking-bird  ? 

My  little  Clytie  with  the  constant  eyes 
Turned  to  me  ever,  though  the  true  sunrise 
Burns  far  above  me  in  God's  holy  skies, — 

How  can  you  know,  my  sweet  unconscious  one, 
In  the  bright  days  for  you  but  just  begun, 
That  I  am  worthy  to  be  held  your  sun  ? 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  ioi 

t 

My  little  loyal  worshipper,  the  bloom 

Of  whose  fair  face  makes  bright  the  midnight  gloom, 

Turned  ever  steadily  to  my  near  room, 

Knowing  so  well,  with  instinct  fine  and  true, 
The  one  glad  door  through  which  I  come  to  you, 
Caring  for  naught  but  what  that  hides  from  view, — 

How  long,  dear  one,  how  many  precious  years, 
Will  this  fair  chamber  where  I  hush  your  tears 
Be  the  one  Mecca  for  your  hopes  and  fears  ? 

Not  long,  alas  !  not  long  ;  the  mother  heart 
Knows  well  how  quickly  she  will  have  to  part 
With  all  this  wonder  ; — she  who  tries  each  art 

To  lure  him  on  ;  the  first  to  coax  and  praise 
Each  added  grace  ;  then  first  in  sore  amaze 
To  mourn  that  he  has  lost  his  baby  ways  ! 


102  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"IF  I  COULD  KNOW,  LOVE." 

|F  I  could  know,  love,  that  some  single  prayer 
From  my  full  heart's  supreme  desires  for  thee, 
With  rich  fulfillment  would  be  granted  me 
By  Him  who  gave  us  to  each  other, — where 
Could  I  find  truer  wish  than  this  :  "  O  spare 
My  life  to  him  !  "  For  surely  love  should  be 
Love's  best  interpreter  ;  an  argosy 
Freighted  with  all  earth's  joy,  wert  thou  not  there, — 
Beside  me  always — how  could  I  be  glad 
In  aught  of  this  ?  my  own  great  speechless  need, 
Not  only  of  the  love  I  once  have  had, 
But  of  thy  presence,  teaches  me  to  read 
The  deep,  unspoken  prayer  thy  heart  would  add 
To  mine,  if  highest  heaven  could  lean  to  heed  ! 


THE  RING  OF  A  ME  TH  YST.  103 

THE  DIFFERENCE. 

|NE  day  I  heard  a  little  lady  say, 

"O  morning-glory,  would  that  I  were  you  ! 
Twining  around  the  porch  that  lovely  way, 
Where  you  will  see  my  dear  one  coming  through. 
So  fair  you  are,  he'll  surely  notice  you, 
And  wait  perhaps  a  moment,  just  to  praise 
The  clinging  prettiness  of  all  your  ways, 
And  tender  tint  of  melting  white  and  blue. 

0  morning-glory,  would  that  I  were  you  !  " 

1  heard  the  little  lady's  lover  say, 

"  O  rose-white  daisy,  dying  in  the  dew, 
Breathing  your  half-crushed,  fainting  life  away 
Under  her  footstep, — would  that  I  were  you  ! 
For  when  how  cruelly  she  wounded  you, 
She  turns  to  see  in  pitying  distress, 
With  murmured  words  of  sorrowing  tenderness 
Close  to  her  lips  your  bruised  leaves  she  will  press  ; — 
O  drooping  daisy,  would  that  I  were  you  !  " 


104 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


INDIAN  SUMMER. 

LINGER,  O  Day  ! 
Let  not  thy  purple  ha/e 
Fade  utterly  away  ! 
The  Indian  Summer  lays 
Her  tender  touch  upon  the  emerald  hills  ; 

Exquisite  thrills 
Of  delicate  gladness  fill  the  blue-veined  air. 

More  restful  even  than  rest, 
The  passionate  sweetness  that  is  everywhere. 

Soft  splendors  in  the  west 
Touch  with  the  charm  of  coming  changefulness 
The  yielding  hills. 
O  linger,  Day  ! 
Let  not  the  dear 

Delicious  languor  of  thy  dreamfulness 
Vanish  away  ! 
Serene  and  clear, 

The  brooding  stillness  of  the  delicate  air, 
Dreamier  than  the  dreamiest  depths  of  sleep. 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST,  105 

Falls  softly  everywhere. 
Still  let  me  keep 

One  little  hour  longer  tryst  with  thee, 
O  Day  of  days  ! 
Lean  down  to  me, 
In  tender  beauty  of  thy  amethyst  haze  ! 

Upon  the  vine 

Rich,  clinging  clusters  of  the  ripening  grape 
Hang  silent  in  the  sun  ; 
But  in  each  one 

Beats  with  full  throb  the  quickening  purple  wine 
Whose  pulse  shall  round  the  perfect  fruit  to  shape. 

Too  dreamy  even  to  dream, 
I  hear  the  murmuring  bee  and  gliding  stream  ; 

The  singing  silence  of  the  afternoon 
Lulling  my  drowsy  senses  till  they  swoon 

Into  still  deeper  rest  ; 
While  soul  released  from  sense, 

Passionate  and  intense, 

With  quick,  exultant  quiver  in  its  wings, 

Prophetic  longing  for  diviner  things, 


106  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 

Escapes  the  unthinking  breast  ; — 
Pierces  rejoicing  through  the  shining  mist, 
But  shrinks  before  the  keen,  cold  ether,  kissed 

By  burning  stars  :  delirious  foretaste 
Of  joys  the  soul — (too  eager  in  its  haste 
To  grasp  ere  won  by  the  diviner  right 
Of  birth  through  death) — is  far  too  weak  to  bear 

Bathed  in  earth's  lesser  light, 
Slipping  down  slowly  through  the  shining  air, 
Once  more  it  steals  into  the  dreaming  breast, 
Praying  again  to  be  its  patient  guest  ; 

And  as  my  senses  wake, 
The  beautiful  glad  soul  again  to  take, 
The  twilight  falls  ;— 
A  lonely  wood-thrush  calls 
The  Day  away. 
Thou  needst  not  linger,  Day  ! 
My  soul  and  I 

Would  hold  high  converse  of  diviner  things 
Than  blossom  underneath  thy  tender  sky. 
Unfold  thy  wings  ! 


THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST.  107 

Wrap  softly  round  thyself  thy  delicate  haze, 
And  gliding  down  the  slowly  darkening  ways, 
Vanish  away  ! 


108  THE  RING  OF  AMETHYST. 


"LAST— AN  AMETHYST." 

THOU  in  whom,  not  knowing,  I  believe, 

If  in  these  uttered  phrases  there  is  naught 
Of  that  supreme,  deep  language  of  Thy  thought 
Men  call  religion — yet  wilt  Thou  receive 
The  finished  task  ;  though*  I  have  dared  to  leave 
Unseen,  but  not  unfelt,  though  best  unsought, 
As  Thou  thyself  to  my  own  heart  hast  taught, 
The  solemn  truths  that  so  will  strongest  cleave 
Unto  men's  souls.     My  hand  would  fain  forget 
Its  eager  cunning,  ere  the  fingers  kissed 
By  one  whose  love  Thou  gavest  me,  should  yet 
Yield  all  to  joy,  uncaring  if  they  list, — 
Thy  angels — from  the  heavenly  parapet 
Of  precious  stones  :  "  the  twelfth,  an  amethyst  !  '* 


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